


keep me settled for a while (I know my love)

by wvrlyearp



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, slight insinuations that sex is a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvrlyearp/pseuds/wvrlyearp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waverly is a restless sleeper. Nicole is a big sap. Angsty fluff & gratuitous use of the word “sleep” ensues. title from "turns within me, turns without me" by the paper kites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep me settled for a while (I know my love)

Every night that you had slept together, Waverly had been restless. Not  _ slept together _ slept together, but every time you had shared a bed she had tossed and turned so much that you were almost always woken from your relatively light slumber. As a cop you were always on your toes, and your sleeping hours didn’t offer a reprieve from that. In the whole scheme of nature vs nurture, you weren’t sure if you had become a cop because you were always alert or if you were jumpy because you were a cop. All you knew is that you weren’t a heavy sleeper. 

Waverly  _ had _ warned you that she didn’t sleep well, citing frequent nightmares and general restlessness for the reasons that she was, in the literal sense, “not a good bedfellow”. The first few times she had been over she had suggested that she should probably sleep on your couch, but you had adamantly refused. It was a morality thing. You weren’t the type to sleep with someone and then not, well,  _ sleep _ with them. So you endured her endless kicking and tossing and cover-hogging. 

Besides, you love her. A few bruises on your shins which you could pretend were from walking into tables or “the line of duty” were well worth getting to feel Waverly’s warm presence next to you and seeing her bright and sleepy smile in the morning. The tender and morning-breathy kisses that she would press to your forehead as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes were worth the occasional nodding off at your desk. 

Usually when you were woken up in the middle of the night shivering because the blankets were on the floor or because there was an elbow poking into your collarbone or a knee in your abdomen, you could just carefully rearrange Waverly’s sleeping form so that she was nestled just in front of you with your arm draped delicately over her abdomen.  She always let you be the big spoon, which you greatly appreciated. It was nice to watch her sleep. Sometimes you would lean up on one elbow and watch her for a few minutes, maybe carefully brushing a few runaway strands of hair out of her face, so peaceful and serene in her slumbering state. You liked the way she drooled a little bit and how her eyes fluttered when she slept. You knew of course that those were normal bodily functions, but they were normal bodily functions that you liked best on  _ her. _

Sometimes she was the one to wake up completely, not you. You would be awoken in the middle of the night by the lack of her presence next to you and the sound of her softly padding around the room as she picked up a book or put on a sweater. She had admitted that some nights she resigned herself to not sleeping at all. You wondered if she ever watched you sleep, if she stared at your closed eyes and slack mouth and saw something that she liked. You can’t imagine that you look terribly attractive sleeping. You’re pretty sure that you snore on occasion too. You hoped that she felt even a tenth of the feeling of reverence that you felt when you watched her sleeping. If she did, it meant that she liked you a whole  _ hell _ of a lot, which was honestly kind of something you were counting on.

But what was usually fairly harmless tossing and turning was much worse tonight. Usually when you were woken up, it was just because of one twitch that jostled you enough to rouse you, nothing too concerning and not enough that you felt that she had to be shaken from her sleep. When you first learned that Waverly was prone to nightmares, you’d looked up online if it was ever the right thing to do to wake somebody from one, and the consensus was generally that it wasn’t worth it unless they seemed overly distressed. 

Waverly seemed overly distressed. 

She was mumbling something in her sleep, practically whimpering,  and her face was scrunched into a mask of pain as she lashed out. You weren’t really sure how to go about waking her without getting hit in the face, but whatever was going on in her subconscious was hurting her, and you wanted to protect her from it. Of course, you knew Waverly was strong. You fully believed that she was capable of taking care of herself when awake, but in her dreams she was probably defenseless. And the only thing you could do to protect her was to wake her up and make them stop. 

You gently sit up slightly so that you’re leaning up on one elbow and reach over tentatively with your other hand, gently placing it on her shoulder. You shake her gently, whispering her name softly. She continues to whimper and doesn’t wake up, so you say her name a little louder. 

Waverly wakes up with a gasp, flinging an arm out to the side and decking you squarely in the sternum. You feel yourself “oof” as the wind is knocked out of your lungs and you roll over onto your back. If you had been expecting the hit, it wouldn’t have winded you. But you were half asleep and a little disoriented and more than a little concerned. You felt bad that you had fallen over. Waverly would thought that she had hit you a lot harder than she had. 

But then Waverly is reaching over you to turn on the bedside lamp and the room is filled with light and your vision is filled with her sweet face hovering over yours, a look of deep concern in her eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You ask immediately, scooching up a little on the pillows so your face is closer to hers.

“Am I okay?” She responds incredulously, her nose scrunching up. “You’re the one who  _ I _ just punched.”

You raise an eyebrow, waving off her concern with your hand before pushing her lightly over so she falls back on the mattress, facing you. 

“I would call it more of a smack than a punch, Waves. You know? Open palm versus closed fist?” You hold up a fist as comparison, waving it around and grinning at her. She smiles a little but you can tell she’s still upset, either from her bad dreams or because she accidentally hit you. It sobers you up immediately and you look her in the eyes carefully, trying to decipher her emotions. You reach over and run a thumb down her face and she closes her eyes, letting out a shuddered breath. 

“I’m okay Waverly, really.” She nods, her eyes still closed. You can tell she’s fighting off tears. She had told you once that she didn’t like to cry in front of anybody when she could help it. Her sisters had ridiculed her as a child for being a crybaby and for being weak, and after Willa was gone and Wynonna stopped visiting, Waverly had promised to herself that she would be strong. You knew she was strong, you had told her so thousands of times. But you thought it was okay to cry sometimes, too. Tears could be strong.

“I just-” She chokes up, and you quickly draw her into an embrace, stroking her messy bedhead with the hand that’s not clutching her body to yours. She balls up the front of your sleep t-shirt in her fists, eyes still squeezed shut as tears start to leak out. 

“I just. I don’t-” She mumbles again, hiccuping through her tears. You shush her softly, tucking her head in under your chin, breathing deeply.  

You know what she dreams of, you think. It’s been hard for her to talk about everything that happened while she was… possessed. You don’t even like to think about it. Which is selfish, you know. But you can’t bear to think of how hurt she must have felt, how she must have been fighting something bigger than her from the inside, how she couldn’t control her actions and her thoughts were polluted with something dark and terrible. The sentence goes unfinished, but you know what it is. She doesn’t want to lose control again. She doesn’t want to hurt you. 

You can’t assuage all her fears. You can’t promise her that everything will be okay because in a town like Purgatory, it might not be. You wish you could lie and say that it was going to all work out. You sure as hell hoped it would. But you were never a good liar, so you settle for silence. 

Waverly cries into your chest and you stroke her hair and you say nothing and she says nothing and your chest hurts but not from the blow of her hands. You swallow thickly, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry with her, but you know that’s not what she needs. Not right now. 

After a few more minutes she pulls away from your chest, relinquishing the wrinkled mess of your pajama shirt. 

“Thank you.” She mumbles, wiping her nose on her sleeve and sniffling. It’s kind of cute how she wrinkles her nose. You smile. You nod. It’s okay. 

Wordlessly, you reach over and turn off the light. You lie back down and Waverly kisses the end of your nose. You smile and direct her down to your mouth, laughing slightly as you try to find each other’s mouths in the dark. She thanks you again, this time without words. 

“You’re welcome.” You whisper into the dark, settling in behind her as she turns around. You drape your arm over her, knowing that you’ll wake up in the morning with a hand that’s fallen asleep and a mouthful of long hair. 

As always, it’s worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr @ wvrlyearp! talk wayhaught to me! insult this fic if u want! send me prompts definitely!! xoxo


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